Arriving at the Royal Palace of Madrid, a feeling of blissful accomplishment took hold of me. Finally, one of my whims that actually worked. (So far at least). This trip wasn’t supposed to happen. Not really. I was supposed to be going away in January, not now. But, with my burgeoning frustrations in London ballooning every day, and a rapidly rising loathing, both for myself and a city I was sick and tired of, I’d had enough. So, from when I arrived at Stansted this morning, grieving for the loss of my peanut butter sandwiches which I’d foolishly left to languish back in Barnet, lumbering towards Gate 42, clumsily trying to hike up my jeans which were sagging below my hips and flashing my chequered pink boxers to the crowds, to the moment I arrived in the Spanish capital, completely failing to make head or tail of Madrid’s metro system, getting off at the wrong stop yet managing to walk all the way to the Royal Palace on my own; I had finally done something to put a smile on my face.
Not only had I not got myself lost, but the walk to the palace had actually charmed me. The PEW PEW PEW of the traffic lights – as if someone was opening fire with a laser blaster every time I crossed the road; the mighty fountains in the middle of every roundabout and the spacious wide-open streets, free from the stifling, smothering crowds which choke every downtown London avenue. My neck and shoulders might have been aching like mad, unused do dragging around a load as massive as my new Osprey backpack, but I didn’t care, I had seen enough, and now I felt it. The feeling that you’ve made the right decision.
And yet, the biggest reason I came to Madrid – perhaps the only reason – hadn’t even come into play yet. I was yet to meet with Carlos. The man I hadn’t seen since I was 19 years old. Six and a half years ago….
Once I’d gotten a sufficient eyeful of the Royal Palace and enjoyed some salmon focaccia, I managed to metro myself to a place called Cuatro Caminos where Carlos picked me up. I dumped my rock of a rucksack in the back seat of his red Toyota before getting in the front. It felt surprisingly normal to see him. Not remotely as if almost 7 years had gone by since we last spoke face-to-face.
In the run up to our reunion, I made it clear to Carlos that he didn’t need to make a big deal. I didn’t want him to stress out about me coming. I was only happy he’d offered me a place to stay. But he insisted on going grocery shopping and buying lots of things… many of which were just for me.
As we walked around the supermarket we did a bit of reminiscing, and talked of that night we shared together in 2015, watching Game of Thrones and drinking red wine throughout the night – not to mention the other, far more romantic things we engaged in that night, and I couldn’t help but wonder if something similar was to happen this night.
Carlos is an overly gracious man; he exudes sweetness, and this is only trebled when he removes his glasses and smiles. He insisted on buying food for me, on cooking for me, and even told me to ‘shut up’ when I told him that he should pick the cheapest butter if he doesn’t usually buy it for himself.
Carlos has a cosy flat near the center of Madrid where he fried us salmon steaks drenched in soy sauce and served them with a bowl of peppery olives. He also gave me some extremely potent tomato and garlic soup, which he insisted you must eat cold on its own, but which I insisted I must eat hot with bread. We ate on the couch in his living room. He put on the first episode of House of the Dragon which neither of us had seen yet.
I thought maybe something would happen when we had finished our food. I didn’t come to Madrid to hook up with Carlos. I came here to see him as a friend. But at the same time, I thought – I felt – that he would certainly not say no to something more. Because neither would I. So, what kept us? Perhaps we have only House of the Dragon to blame. I thought the first episode riveting, and much better than expected. It is only my first night in Madrid. And while I’m both happy and excited, I’m still uncertain of things. Not least the situation between me and my host…
